but you see, i have no experience with love as it is filled with deadly tales resulting in the most odious of feats; dancing against the battalion of the night ('for the sake of love') but ending up defeated with submissive heads; take romeo and juliet as your doomed truest tragedy, or an egyptian queen kissing the grounds of her royal lover: but in the end it means naught for they crack and break and bask in the mellifluous wails (of their tempers and seductresses) who lead them off the path of their benefactor's wishes, yet i write these (stupid, stupid) love poems with such rhythm & beat & taste & glorious outcomes whilst straying away from the actual truth, and that is where i have (strayed off and) gone wrong.
i immerse my heart in dreams about the day where i would taste such fervent efforts inside my lungs living & breathing like a garden full of flowers, hoping that one day i can glimpse what it means to fall in love with a bittersweet youth who may bring me to the wishes of my mind & the calling of my heat, even though i do taste the doubt lingering over my chapped grape stained lips behind these intoxicated thoughts that wish to sink into every crevice, overrunning the chambers of my mind with the honeypot of confections otherworldly (in a turkish embrace), & i cannot help overthinking underneath the shelter of my roof littered by ancient paintings of sculptured statuettes so daunting & detailed; for who will ever love a girl like me? tell me why i am carved into this wall of idiocy, so as to be insecure over my own appearance? because pretending i do not care is fine but it is not alright waking up each day to wonder (why am i not beautiful).
YOU ARE READING
an abstract limn
Poetry❝ but this time i will not be lifted from the realms of this catastrophe, this time i will be dipped into the honeyed lox of this saccharine thought; drowning in the depths of the wilted tulips that have not ever to sprout. look at these alstroemeri...
